


Feelings

by useless_slytherclaw



Series: Midnight Cobra [5]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crime Sorcière, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, Hand Jobs, I Love You, M/M, MidCo, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Secret Relationship, Smut, Tartaros Arc (Fairy Tail), oracio seis, the oracion seis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useless_slytherclaw/pseuds/useless_slytherclaw
Summary: On their first night of freedom, Erik and Macbeth sneak away from the others to confess their feelings and mess around."They’re kissing, and Erik feels like he’s back on solid ground again; kissing Macbeth is something he knows how to do."
Relationships: Cobra | Erik /Midnight | Macbeth, Cobra | Erik/Midnight
Series: Midnight Cobra [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657261
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Feelings

Erik’s lying on his back and staring up at the stars; he would swear he could practically hear them singing. The world around him sounds bright and humming and beautiful after seven years of the near silence without his magic. But there’s something much closer to him than the stars to catch his attention. The soft sound of his friends sleeping and the sounds of their dreams would relax him if one of them wasn’t still awake. 

“Macbeth,” the word is somewhere between a breath and a whisper, and Erik realizes that Macbeth can’t hear him. He rolls over to look at the de facto leader of their group. He’s sitting with his back against a tree and has his arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees. He’s glaring off into the dark, and Erik doesn’t need to hear his heart to know that he’s glaring in Jellal’s direction. So much has happened in the last twelve hours, and Erik wishes he could hear Macbeth so he would know what to do, how to face the storm brewing behind those garnet eyes.

He thinks of the slightly manic gleam in those eyes as they walked free of the destroyed council building. Excitement shining through, or maybe in concert with, sleep deprivation.

Then he thinks of Macbeth’s bowed head, the shadows and hair hiding those red eyes after Erik killed Brain. Erik hadn’t needed to hear Macbeth to understand the need to quickly explain that Brain was using them. He’d been half-expecting Macbeth to attack him anyway; he’d always been the most attached to Brain. But then Macbeth looked up and said, “if you heard it then it must be true.” There had been absolute faith in those words. 

Then he thinks about Jellal. The fight: Macbeth had left the fight to them, trusting in their abilities, and they had failed; seven years is a long time without practice. Macbeth had joined the fray without any of them knowing, but then Jellal had broken through his magic too. Erik’s heart had shuddered at Macbeth’s defeated, “kill me.” 

Moving quietly as he can, Erik gets up and moves towards Macbeth. He can see red eyes following his path, but the other man doesn’t move. Gods, Erik doesn’t know how to do  _ this, _ how to comfort. Sliding one hand over silky black hair, he motions into the darkness of the woods around them hoping that the other man will follow him; he does. At first, it’s eerily silent as they walk; he can’t hear anything with his magic from Macbeth, and it’s almost like a void right next to him, but slowly the reflector magic retreats until it’s only blocking the other man’s thoughts. 

They stop when Erik thinks they can’t be heard by the rest of the group. He turns slowly to face Macbeth, who’s following him entirely too obediently.

“I’m sorry,” Macbeth’s voice is soft and his eyes are on the ground. Erik had not been expecting that. “I’m the strongest.” Was his voice trembling? “I should have protected you. I failed and just when you got us free.”

“Macbeth,” the softness in his own voice sounds odd to Erik. “It’s not your fault. And Jellal believes what he says. He, and Meredy and Richard, they believe that our anger, our hatred, our darkness is holding us back, is trapping us… that we will only be free once we get out of the darkness. And this’ll give a chance to go after Zeref.” He doesn’t need to tell Macbeth that Zeref was behind the Tower of Heaven and behind Jellal. 

Macbeth is still staring at the ground in front of his feet. “Do you believe it?” Erik knows that he could just say ‘yes’ and Macbeth would accept it and convince the rest of the Seis of it too. 

But, Erik won’t lie, so he says, “I haven’t decided.”

The other man just nods, not looking up, and Erik doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t realize how much he depended on Macbeth’s cocky confidence; without it, he feels like he’s drowning in the ocean between them. 

On some impulse, Erik finds himself reaching out to Macbeth and pulling the other man closer. There’s no resistance, and Macbeth falls easily into his arms. But, his face is pressed tight into Erik’s shoulder and his hands are moving slowly, hesitantly up. And he doesn’t think that Macbeth has ever touched him so hesitantly before, not even the first time.

He catches one of Macbeth’s hands and pulls it to his lips, pressing kisses over the knuckles and he feels the body against his relaxing. But, Midnight keeps his face tucked into Cobra’s shoulder, not looking up. 

Releasing Macbeth’s hand, Erik lovingly runs his own over the black Macbeth’s hair, occasionally stroking the long white strands underneath. It’s something he’s done many times before and it grounds him. He waits until Macbeth starts to press his head back into Cobra’s touch, silently demanding more before he speaks. He uses his free hand to stroke Macbeth’s cheek as he whispers “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” the soft sound of Macbeth’s voice is music. Macbeth’s hands have finally come to rest on Erik’s chest, lightly gripping the fabric as if afraid that Erik’s going to pull away or be pulled away. Erik presses his face into the softness of the other man’s hair and breathes in the comfortingly familiar smell. Erik has had seven years with too much time to think and he knows that there are things he has to say to the man in his arms. He remembers the sound of Macbeth’s heart when they would lie tangled together, pretending it was just sex, but he’s still nervous. His heartbeat is racing and he’s sure Macbeth can hear it, but the other man says nothing. 

“Macbeth,” Erik tastes the name on his tongue. It’s been so long since he’s used it regularly, but it tastes as sweet as it always has. But he still feels so off-kilter, standing on completely uncharted territory. 

“Yes?” Macbeth says when Erik stalls into silence. 

“I,” Cobra takes a deep breath, “I think I love you.” The hands gripping his shirt tighten, and Cobra has just enough time to start to panic before there’s a sudden rush of sound.

“I think I love you too,” but Macbeth doesn’t just say it, he drops his reflector magic and Cobra can  _ hear _ it in his heart. And Macbeth is tilting his head up and Cobra is kissing him. The hand on Macbeth’s hair tightens and his other hand drops to the dip of his lower back, to pull him closer. They’re kissing, and Erik feels like he’s back on solid ground again; kissing Macbeth is something he knows how to do.

Macbeth must feel the same because the hands on his chest are moving now, much more confident; one reaches up to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck and the other is sliding down towards the hem of his shirt. Soon Macbeth’s fingers are dancing along the skin just under the hem of his shirt, teasing and familiar. Cobra deepens the kiss and a soft whimper comes from Macbeth as their tongues slide together. Heat flares through Cobra and his hands are moving to push Macbeth’s coat away before he tells them to, but the other man is happy to comply, and Cobra finds himself quickly divested of his own.

Macbeth is smirking at him now, red eyes glittering in the moonlight; one of his hands is fiddling with the zipper on Cobra’s shirt and the other is on his hip. He tilts his head as if to say ‘well?’. 

Taking a firm grip on Macbeth’s hip, Erik propels them back a few steps, until Macbeth’s back hits a tree. A tree isn’t the best backdrop, but Macbeth doesn’t seem to care. Since he can’t lift Macbeth by one hand without leaving serious bruises, Erik moves both his hands to the other’s hips. They’ve done this enough times that, when Erik lifts Macbeth by his hips, legs automatically wrap themselves around Erik’s waist and hands grip his shoulders. 

As soon as Erik has him firmly braced, he presses one quick kiss to that smirking mouth before quickly moves down the edge of his jaw and over the graceful curve of his neck, and Macbeth’s skin is going hot under his touch. He’s so caught up in his task, in chasing the small sounds that his partner’s making, that he barely notices that his own shirt has been entirely unzipped. But he definitely feels the play of Macbeth’s fingers against his skin, slowly feeling his abs and sliding lower inch by inch. Macbeth’s touches feel like admiration, and Erik can never get enough of it.

Erik’s hands are deftly working their way down the buttons of Macbeth’s top. He moves his lips down across the other man’s collarbone and chest, greedily tasting that perfect, pale skin. Sometimes he pauses, biting almost hard enough to break the skin, just to hear the moans that follow. He tries to slide the shirt off, but Macbeth’s hands are resolutely on Erik’s body.

Cobra pulls back to look down at those dancing garnet eyes. Macbeth’s hands still, wrapped around the waistband of his pants. He’s not sure how Macbeth can look so cheeky when he’s breathing hard and half-dressed, but he does. 

“Macbeth,” Cobra says, pulling at the fabric under his hands. 

“Yes?” The look in his eyes is too wicked for him to play innocent, but he does it anyway. Cobra’s hands twitch involuntarily, ready to pleasure Macbeth until he melts and offers no resistance. But not yet. 

One of his hands catches the collar at Macbeth’s throat, and Cobra watches the involuntary flutter of dark lashes against his pale skin. He pulls just hard enough that Macbeth lets his head fall back. Cobra ghosts his lips over the pale skin of his throat, moving towards his ear. 

“The shirt.” he says, teeth grazing Macbeth’s earlobe, “I want it off.”

“Yes,” the response is breathy. Macbeth’s wandering hands have dropped to his sides and Cobra quickly removes first Macbeth’s shirt then his own. His fingers splay across the curve of the other’s hip. 

“Good,” Erik murmurs against Macbeth’s hot skin, and he can feel the responsive shiver against his lips. His mouth ghosts over heated skin murmuring praises and tasting the way Macbeth trembles. He can feel hands, deft and impatient, on the button of his jeans and he smiles, tilting his mouth to run the sharp points of his teeth down over the perfectly pale expanses of skin. He returns his mouth to Macbeth’s so he can swallow the delightful sounds dropping from painted lips, as he slides one hand under the band of Macbeth’s pants and works the zipper free with the other. The denim out of the way, Erik presses his hand down over the hard length; Macbeth’s whole body jerks against his, and Erik lets out a laugh that’s half a purr. One of Macbeth’s hands is gripping his shoulder now, as Erik runs his fingers up Macbeth’s thigh and over his hips then back down over him in a much too light touch.

Erik didn’t have Midnight pinned firmly enough, because suddenly the other man is sliding down, his hands shoving down Erik’s pants and mouth hot against skin. Erik manages to brace himself against the tree with one hand before hot breath against his length is sending shudders up his body. He can hear Macbeth humming happily as he presses breathy, open mouth kisses up his thigh and bites into Erik’s hip. Erik growls and tightly grips the black part of Macbeth’s hair, pushing his head where he really wants it. He groans as that hot mouth finally closes over him. He can hear his own frantic heartbeat and the moans that he can’t stop, but he focuses on the sounds Macbeth is making. There are the sinful wet sounds as he licks and sucks, but there’s also a satisfied humming that sends shivers up and down Erik’s spine. His legs are trembling, and the hand bracing him is gripping the wood so hard that the bark has fractured. Heat is filling his entire body and curling around his spine until he’s gasping and pulling back on Macbeth’s hair in warning. Macbeth groans in appreciation and uses his hand on Erik’s hip to bring him somehow closer, and Erik wants to watch the way that wicked, sweet mouth takes him all the way in, but his vision is going white. The world is rapidly turning into bright white electric heat until he feels the tension leave his body; his arm and legs barely holding him up. When he blinks away the stars and looks down, Macbeth is licking his lips and running admiring hands over bronze skin.

“Macbeth,“ the word is a purr and Macbeth turns his head up to look at him with eyes dark with desire. “That was amazing.” Erik runs one hand down Macbeth’s cheek to feel the flush of his skin at the praise. “Do you have any idea how good you look like that?”

Erik gently puts his fingers under the collar and pulls up, Macbeth stands, which is good because Erik is trembling too much to force him up. Once his partner’s standing, Erik pulls him into a hot kiss. He’s still got one hand pressed against the tree, to the side of Macbeth’s face, but he trails his other hand over the heated skin until he can grip Macbeth’s cock in his hand. Macbeth moans and then pants against Erik’s mouth, but soon he’s whining and squirming in protest of the slow pace. 

Glancing around, Erik sees his coat on the ground and changes tactics. He moves his hands to Macbeth’s hips, maneuvering him again. 

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” Erik murmurs against his lips as Macbeth whimpers at the loss of contact. Macbeth yields under Erik’s hands until Erik has Macbeth lying on the coat and is kneeling between his legs. 

As soon as can, Erik drops his hand down to stroke Macbeth again, this time harder and faster. Erik can hear the desperate racing of his partner’s heart, the way his breath catches, the moans that are rising in volume. When he puts the fingers of his other hand to Macbeth’s lips, the lips part without so much as a smirk. Erik grins; he loves Macbeth when he’s gasping and trembling and yielding.

The sound that Macbeth makes as Erik slides a spit slick finger into him, sends shivers through Erik’s entire body. It takes several thrusts, adjusting the angle of his hand each time until he’s rewarded with a strangled cry. He’s suddenly not at all certain that they are far enough away from the rest of their group. Still, there’s not much point in just  _ telling _ Macbeth to be quieter. 

“I think the others are going to hear you,” Erik says with a laugh. Macbeth groans and overs his mouth with his arm. Erik closes his eyes to enjoy the high pitched desperate sounds that are only mostly muffled; if his hands are slightly clumsier than they used to be, Macbeth certainly doesn’t seem to notice. His hand is gripping desperately against the brown planes of Erik’s shoulder blades, nails leaving red marks in their wake. 

Erik can see the telltale tension in the body under his, can hear the high pitched note behind the crescendoing moans before Macbeth manages “Erik, I, I -”. Macbeth’s teeth sink into his own arm as he fights back a sound between a sob and Erik’s name; then the tension is flooding out of Macbeth’s body.

Erik reaches up to stroke sweat-soaked strands of black hair out of Macbeth’s face; his red eyes are still dazed and heavy-lidded, his lips are slightly parted, and his head falls back against the ground like he’s forgotten how to hold it up. Erik presses a kiss to Macbeth’s forehead, then his lips.

“Common,” Erik says, standing up. He picks up Macbeth’s pants and hands them to him. He knows from experience that he has a maximum of five minutes before Macbeth will be asleep on the ground, usually, it's closer to two; so he focuses on getting Macbeth dressed before he goes for his own clothes. As Erik is doing up his own jeans, he notices that Macbeth’s hands are going slower and slower on each button of his shirt. His jeans on, he moves back over to Macbeth and finishes the last few buttons for him. Macbeth’s lids are already fluttering and Erik can admire the way his dark lashes kiss his fair skin. With a practiced motion, he wraps one arm around the other man and slowly lowers him to the ground. Shaking his head at the sleeping form, Erik gathers up his clothes. He can hear a stream nearby and he aims for it; listening closely to the sound of Macbeth’s sleepy breathing. When he returns to Macbeth, fully dressed, he reaches down and picks up the other man. Luckily, all of the Oracion Seis, or Crime Sorciere, are sweaty and dirty from the earlier fight and then their trek through the woods; so Macbeth really doesn’t look much more like a mess than he did before. 

With a groan, Erik picks up Macbeth; normally, he would throw him over his shoulder and carry him that way, but for now, he cradles him in his arms. In the next few days, he’s sure he’ll be wishing they had Macbeth’s flying carpet back, but for now, he’s enjoying the warmth against his chest. He studies the dark smudges under Macbeth’s eyes; it’s easy to forget that it’s magic that keeps Macbeth asleep, and without it, in the council prison, Macbeth probably hasn’t had a proper sleep in seven years. Pulling Macbeth closer to his chest, Erik wishes yet again that he had gotten them out sooner.

As he approaches the others, he can hear that Jellal is awake and waiting for them. Erik doesn’t care, and besides, Jellal’s worried about Macbeth and Erik scheming, not them fucking. He doesn’t say anything to Jellal, he just brings Macbeth to the sleeping bag left out for him and sets him on it. His coat should keep him warm enough; it’s not particularly cold outside. Erik’s deeply tempted to curl up by his side, the way they used to in his room in the Oracion Seis guildhall. But the others are around, so Erik lays on his own sleeping bag and turns his gaze back up to the stars. This time, the soft sound of his friends sleeping and the sounds of their dreams send him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pair and I think that they need a lot more love. So, here I am. I'd love to hear what you think. Still new to smut, so I'm happy for constructive criticism. 
> 
> I'd love to discuss midco and the oracion seis and crime soricere in general on [tumblr](https://useless-slytherclaw.tumblr.com/).


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